


Pipes

by GhostHost



Series: The Edge of the Universe and Other Stupid Places to Live. [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: But Also Part Of A Series, Canonical Character Death, Getways bullshit is starting to affect the lost light, Humanformers, but no one knows it yet, standalone fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Pipes didn't set out to become a hero, but somehow got there anyway.





	Pipes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to a prompt and then liked it enough that I decided to insert it into the series. This is actually the second fic in the series in that it goes before Plastic Ships but I'm too lazy to figure out how to re-arrange them right this second. You don't need to read either fics to understand this one. 
> 
> This is 50% Anne Leckie's Ancillary series, 40% Martha Wells Murderbot Diaries, and 10% a mystery mix of sci fi books and Zoids. There is no Radch, but there are persnickety AIs.
> 
> Warnings: This ones got a bit of an emotional punch. Canonical character death, suicide mission, bombs, etc. Want something else labeled throw me a line!

Pipes

Didn't know how but I always had a feeling  
I was gonna be that one in a million  
Always had high, high hopes

* * *

 

Pipes needed this. Riptide too, he was certain.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t handle the space station, even one as wonky as the Lost Light. It wasn’t even the crew--they actually got along nicely with right about everyone. No, this was just--what they were meant to do. What they were--thankfully--hired, to do.

Energon mining was one of jobs that was always needed, and as long as humans decided to stick themselves on space stations or spaceships or make giant AI piloted mechs, or use any of the other three million things that ran on the stuff, it would continue to be.

Plus it was a relatively low risk job, for a position in space.

"Meteor up ahead has a good reading!” Riptide said. The AI was a funny one, but mining AI’s always were. The calculations and equipment and general gathering was usually left up to their human partners, so all the AI’s had to do was pilot whatever ship or mech they’d been given, and make sure the energon creation process ran smoothly. Easy stuff for an AI--which meant, that they tended to be a bit less intelligent than their brethren.

Riptide especially had been a bit cheaper than the others.

Pipes hadn’t cared though. He knew what he was looking for and Riptide had been it.

“Take us to her!” He told his AI cheerfully. The shark-looking mech Riptide piloted turned smoothly, and with a few rapid movements overtook the meteor in question. Pipes began running the diagnostics, falling into a routine he’d done so many times it was practically second nature.

Which of course, meant he didn’t see the mistake until his second time through.

“Riptide.” He called with a frown. “Why are we getting unusually high energy readings?”

“We aren’t--oh.” Riptide paused, the voice echoing about the cockpit. “Huh. Hold on.”

Pipes held, certain his AI would find whatever it was that was causing the error. Energon tended to run hot, but the readings he was showing--It almost looked they they were picking up on a small ship rather than a rock.

Riptide must have come to the same conclusion, because Pipe’s mech abruptly spat out the rock. The jets maneuvered, ducking under the meteor so they could see into the space surrounding them.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

Except the energy reading was still there--and now blatantly separate from the rock.

“Is it our equipment?” Pipes asked, as he studied the meteor. It was medium sized--small enough to fit into his mech’s massive mouth.

“Negative.” Riptide called out, after a moment. Pipes knew he was checking the equipment, just as he knew he trusted his AI to know when things had gone wrong.

“The energy signal’s split off from the rock.” Riptide said the first hint of worry in his voice. AI voices were randomized, made from various recordings of various people over the ages. None of them were mechanical, as part of the goal to keep them feeling “human” to those who purchased or used them. That they acted human was another issue on it’s own and not something Pipes wanted to think about. At least, not right now, when the energy signal was looking more and more like a cloaked ship, that had used a decent sized rock to hide itself.

“Riptide.” Pipe’s ordered, voice suddenly taking on a tone of demand, “Lock on to the energy signal.”

Once again his mech swung to comply, the sharks head following the hidden energy source. Mining mechs were different from combat mechs in a lot of ways, but they shared some base things. One of those things was sending out a Shaker--or a disruptive radio wave. It wouldn’t do anything harmful, but this close, it would locate another radio.

If a ship really was hiding, they’d get a ping back.

“Locked.” Riptide said.

“Send out the shaker.” Pipes commanded.

Two minutes later, they got a ping.

Seconds after that, the energy signal swung to face them.

“Fuck.” Pipes said, as the signal prompt accelerated. Then, louder; _“Fuck!”_ when it unveiled itself.

It was a Decepticon ship.

A hidden, cloaked Decepticon ship, in their territory, that was now headed straight for them.

“Mission control, this is Pipes! Do you read!” Pipes shouted in his comms, as Riptide swung the mining mech about. Seatbelts locked Pipes in on their own, as though the straps would protect Pipes from the oncoming ship.

“Pipes and Riptide, this is Mission Control. What can we do for you?”

“There’s a cloaked ‘Con ship in sector nine! We tripped over it and now it’s in pursuit!”

“Are you certain?” Mission Control’s voice slipped, going from cooly professional to abruptly worried. “The wars over!”

“I _know_ that.” Pipe’s grit out, two seconds before the warning signals started to shriek. The ship was firing on them! “I think we just found a few stragglers.”

“Okay, hold on!” Mission Control--who was even supposed to be Mission Control for today? Hound? Atomizer? “There’s--shit, there’s no one near you right now. Drift and his combat AI--Sunstreaker-- are docked and I’ve alerted them but everyone else is out. Can you get away?”

The mech shuddered as the ‘Con’s landed a hit. “We’re gonna try.”

“Pipes can you describe the ship? If it’s a small one we might be able to talk you through combat!”

Which meant Mission Control definitely wasn’t Hound.

“Riptide?” Pipes asked, teeth gritting as their mech shuddered again. His AI would have a better idea of what the ship was.

“It’s--a personal ship, I think.” Riptide said, then abruptly _rolled_ the mech, forcing Pipes to suck in a breath in shock. It’s got a lot of artillery and--.”

“And what?” Pipes gasped, as Riptide forced their mech to dive, fast.

“Riptide?” He demanded, when the AI promptly chucked their mining crane off their mech’s back, something done only in absolute and total emergencies. The cost alone…

“The ship is carrying an A class hydrogen bomb. ” Riptide said finally, voice tight.

Realization and horror hit Pipes at once. “It’s a station killer.” He croaked. “Is it--can you tell if it’s piloted?”

The fact that it had suddenly given chase suggested that it was--an AI would have continued onto it’s chosen path. Speaking of which….

“Riptide what was its path?” Pipes said suddenly. “Where was it headed based on the movements we got of it?”

The horror grew when Riptide confirmed what Pipes feared. “It was headed towards the Lost Light.”

“Mission Control, did you get that?” Pipes asked, thoughts scrambling. A station killer this far out, headed for the Lost Light, when the only combatants on the ship was Drift and Sunstreaker.

They wouldn’t even have a chance.

Nobody would.

“I did. Pipes, Drift is on his way. Do not engage that ship, I repeat, do not engage!”

Like he would. Riptide continued to curve this way and that, but the smaller ship was faster. Of course it was faster, Pipes thought, annoyed at himself, it was a fragging _Station Killer._

There weren’t many of those to begin with, and the ones there were--well. The ‘Cons had a famous one, that had taken down four stations consecutively before finally being defeated by Optimus Prime himself.

Something hit their ship, hard. Pipes felt the impact all the way through to his spine. He jammed his eyes shut out of habit and wasn’t surprised to the cockpit bathed in red light when he forced them back open.

“Engine Three is out.” Riptide said, panic filling his voice. “I can’t restart it!”

“Mission Control how far out is Drift?” Pipes asked. With their biggest engine down they couldn’t successful run but they could at least dodge. Hold out, maybe, until help arrived.

“They’re thirty minutes out. I’ve redirected Unit One to you as well, they’re forty minutes away. Hang tight Pipes.” Mission Control responded.

Thirty minutes.

Pipes checked their fuel--and along with the warnings that were cascading down his screens.

It wasn’t enough.

“Pipes.” Riptide said, worried and panicked, as though Pipes couldn’t see the readout for himself.

“Engine three caught fire.” Pipes said, his own voice sounding miles away. “I see it.”   


Riptide whined. “Fire suppression has failed. I can’t stop it.”

“Likelihood of escape in a pod?” Pipes asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Riptide and Mission Control answered. “15 percent.”

Right. Pipes ran a hand through his hair. Sat in the dark, with only the red lights illuminating the cockpit. Stared at his reflection--face pinched, features barely visible with the red light. It never had been good at reflecting darker skin tones.

“Pipes?”

Riptide--his AI, was worried. Oh so worried--because this was it. For him.

He was dead in the water with no way out.

 _‘You can sit here.’_ He told himself. _‘And wait for them to catch up. You can die a coward. Or--’_ The thought made him nauseous, the very idea, but he plowed ahead anyway because there was no other option, not now. Not ever. ‘ _You can meet them and go out a hero.’_

So much easier said than done. Because this wasn’t a movie. This was his life. His actual, real life. If he did this, if he meet them head on--

He would cease to exist.

He’d be gone, and nothing, and no one would bring him back.

Hysteria bubbled up in his chest, and somewhere, someone who didn’t even feel like him reached inside. Pulled out the last bit of courage he had. Because if the ship didn’t get him the smoke from the fire would, it was already eating up his oxygen. If he ejected from the pod than not even Riptide would be able to accompany him in his final moments--he’d go alone, a sitting duck out in spaced. He could eject and tell Riptide to run the mech into the Station Killer, but then he was too close. The collision would set off the bomb and--

Nope.

He’d die alone.

The courage grew into anger and he let it. Het let that power him, give him what he needed, even as tears fell down his face.

“Turn the ship around.” He croaked.

_“What!?”_

He wasn’t sure who yelled it, if it was Mission Control or Riptide. EIther way it didn’t matter.

“Turn the ship around.” He repeated. Unlike the movies his voice didn’t grow stronger. There was no great moment of bravery, or triumph, or acceptance. Just a weird, building anger to let him do one thing.

He could do that. One last thing.

 _“Now,_ Riptide.” He said and okay, that had a bit of a command to it. Riptide finally did as he was told, wheeling the ship about.

“Full charge.” He ordered, breathing fast, panic and fear and anger surging together. “Make it hurt.”

To his credit, his AI did exactly as he was told.

“Pipes what are you _doing-!?_ ” Shrieked Mission Control.

Fire rained down on the mech’s hull, ripping into the shark’s plating and damaging it beyond repair. It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered, because the course was already set. The Station Killer wouldn’t dodge--they never did. No one ever expected a suicide run to hit it.

At least, not so far as Pipes knew. It’d been a while since anyone had used one.

“Pipes!” Screamed Mission Control.

“Goodbye Mission Control,” He said in response, voice choked. “Thanks for trying.”

Two minutes before impact, he smacked the button for a forced reset--shunting Riptide’s “self” off the ship.

Nice thing about AIs. They could abandon ship digitally.

“Live well for me.” Pipes told him, knowing his AI couldn’t hear.

At least today’s causality would only number one.

It was the thought he held onto, when the impact countdown spun up. The thought he kept when it shrilled it’s alarms.

It was the very last thing he thought, when he screwed his eyes shut, and became a hero.

A minute after impact, Riptide surfaced back onto the Lost Light--and _screamed._


End file.
